Lisel Mueller, fragment from the poem "The Escape" — The Need to Hold Still: Collected Poems
seen from Russia
seen from United States

seen from Saudi Arabia
seen from China
seen from Ireland

seen from Saudi Arabia
seen from China
seen from Ireland
seen from China
seen from China
seen from China
seen from Russia

seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from China

seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from Ireland
seen from United Kingdom
Lisel Mueller, fragment from the poem "The Escape" — The Need to Hold Still: Collected Poems

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
There Are Mornings
by Lisel Mueller
Even now, when the plot calls for me to turn to stone, the sun intervenes. Some mornings in summer I step outside and the sky opens and pours itself into me as if I were a saint about to die. But the plot calls for me to live, be ordinary, say nothing to anyone. Inside the house the mirrors burn when I pass.
late hours by Lisel Mueller
How swiftly the strained honey
of afternoon light
flows into darkness
and the closed bud shrugs off
its special mystery
in order to break into blossom
as if what exists, exists
so that it can be lost
and become precious
- Lisel Mueller / In Passing
Lisel Mueller, from "Heartland" in Alive Together: New and Selected Poems

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
THERE ARE MORNINGS - Lisel Mueller
Marie Luise Kaschnitz, Selected Later Poems; "I and I" (tr. from the German by Lisel Mueller)
It hovers in dark corners before the lights are turned on, it shakes sleep from its eyes and drops from mushroom gills, it explodes in the starry heads of dandelions turned sages, it sticks to the wings of green angels that sail from the tops of maples. It sprouts in each occluded eye of the many-eyed potato, it lives in each earthworm segment surviving cruelty, it is the motion that runs from the eyes to the tail of a dog, it is the mouth that inflates the lungs of the child that has just been born. It is the singular gift we cannot destroy in ourselves, the argument that refutes death, the genius that invents the future, all we know of God. It is the serum which makes us swear not to betray one another; it is in this poem, trying to speak.
"Hope," Lisel Mueller